


One Trick Pony

by Petra1999



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Disabled Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Massage, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, Pining, Retirement, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra1999/pseuds/Petra1999
Summary: It wasn't always easy being an angel, but Cas was powerful, felt powerful, he could magic away most bruises and tears. It was his thing. His angel mojo, as Dean liked to call it, was the one thing he could do, the one thing he depended on. He didn't think about the possibility of that thing being gone someday, disappearing with his grace and his wings. And the problem with being a one-trick-pony is, of course, that when you can't do the trick anymore you're just a pony - and a useless one at that.Castiel deals with the hurt and helplessness of being human. Dean is there for him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

There are good things and bad things about having an angel as a best friend. The good things - well, Dean doesn't even begin to list those, because it would take years - and the bad things... There's really only one. And that's the fact that apparently it can all be taken from you rather quickly, and then all those good things are gone. 

When Castiel becomes human he isn't the only one who needs time to adjust. Sam and Dean have to deal with it too. And it's hard to think about, and Dean feels wrong thinking it, but they lost their best asset, the ace up their sleeve.

And they love him still, obviously, no question about that. Dean even feels he loves Cas more now: loves the visual of Cas brushing his teeth, loves the sound of Cas' soft snoring, even loves how Cas smells like sweat after hunts.

Dean doesn't know if Sam feels the same way. He tried asking him about it once, but it's really difficult to ask "Hey, does your heart skip a beat when you see Cas yawn?" or "Sammy, do you ever think about Cas when you're about to fall asleep, just so maybe he appears in your dreams?" so Dean ended up stuttering and blushing and steering the conversation back to the topic of the dinner they were eating.

And, if Dean's being honest with himself, he knows. He knows that Sam doesn't feel all that crap. But to acknowledge that means to acknowledge why the hell _Dean_ feels it. And really, Dean doesn't have time for that. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

It's whatever, you know. One day your best friend is an angel and the next he's stealing fries from your plate. And it's fine, it's a-okay.

It's also really damn annoying, though. Especially during hunts. And even more especially, _after_ hunts.

No more gentle touches to his forehead or cheek (and no, those didn't make all the injuries worth it, why would Dean even think that?), no more magical moment of relief when all the blood and pain vanished. Sam and Dean have to tend to each other again, nurse themselves back to health, like in the good old times. Except now they have one more human to take care of, and Castiel is a really bad patient most of the time - whining and grunting and putting weight on his broken leg when he really should just let it heal in peace. 

Dean tries his best to stay calm when dealing with Cas in such a state. Sam offers ever-patient support to them both, taking over for Dean when Dean has had enough, or distracting Cas when he feels a bickering fight starting up again. It's exhausting for everyone. 

Castiel isn't used to being hurt, pained. He isn't used to being incapable of doing certain things, to being forced to rest (not just for hours every single night, but more than that even when he was sick or injured). Dean aids the ex-angel as best he can, with all his energy and all his heart, and all the booze and classic rock it takes to keep himself from going mad at Cas - Cas, who's always moping about, always drowning in self-pity - it's ugly, really. Cas, caffeine-addicted, I-want-the-ones-with-the-dinosaurs-on-them, aspirin-abusing Cas. And Dean, just doing his best, aching himself, with a bad back and tired eyes and messy hair and layers of scars. And Sam, dealing with troubles of his own, watching them, losing sleep over them, hovering always two steps behind, ready to jump in and help if his brother and Cas needed him to. 

It's hard, it's tiring, it's stressful, and it's _human_ , and Cas is _human_ , and despite everything Dean makes breakfast for the lot of them, every day, waiting for Sam's polite _Thank you_ , but not expecting anything from Cas because the sight of Cas beaming, shoveling eggs into his mouth like his life depends on it, makes up for it thousandfold.

So Dean gets up, he takes his shower, he stops himself from thinking about Cas during that, he scrambles those eggs, he sips his coffee, and he watches as Cas moves to the couch to watch TV, and he asks Sam if there's a new hunt, and when there is, he drives them there, and back, and he takes care of Sam and Cas, and Sam takes care of him, and it all starts again from the top, like a broken record player or a movie left on repeat.

Sam talks to Dean about it - about how hard it is, about getting old, about the possibility of retiring one day - and Dean brushes it off, acts like he's still 26 with a give-'em-hell attitude and sunkissed skin, tells Sam that they should be grateful it's mostly easy hunts instead of the apocalypse, or demons with a flashy new eye color, or god, or whatever else they've had to deal with in the past.

Cas doesn't know much about healing the human way. He can't stitch Sam's wounds or set Dean's dislocated arm, but he offers emotional support where he can: slips in an "It's worth it, we saved that family's life" or a "You're still young, you'll get better", or - weirdly - a "The blood splatter contrasts well with your eyes, Dean".

Dean returns the favor whenever Cas is fed up with Sam's attempts at teaching Cas anything above basic first-aid. Dean gets it, reassures Cas, praises him, tells him that everyone would feel a bit woozy at the sight of this much blood, catches Cas when he faints, moves strands of hair on Cas' sweaty forehead, and taps his cheek's lovingly to get him conscious afterwards.

Cas is impatient and often embarrassed, but mostly, Dean knows, Cas feels useless. It used to be so easy for him. Be loyal, be family, okay, that's hard, or maybe not, but: be part of the team, that's easy, or it used to be anyway. Smite some demons, heal the boys, zap them here and there with no real need for a car beside its comfort and homeliness, and boom, you're part of the team.

It wasn't always easy being an angel, but Cas was powerful, _felt_ powerful, he could magic away most bruises and tears. It was his thing. His _angel mojo_ , as Dean liked to call it, was the one thing he could do, the one thing he depended on. He didn't think about the possibility of that thing being gone someday, disappearing with his grace and his wings. And the problem with being a one-trick-pony is, of course, that when you can't do the trick anymore you're just a pony, and a useless one at that.

Being part of the team, like everything else it seems, is more difficult once Cas is human. He's a decent hunter - he knows this - when it comes to the actual _hunting_ part. But everything before and after that he's not good at, and he needs to learn it, which means the Winchesters have to teach him, as if they don't already have enough on their plate.

In short, Cas feels like a burden. And he tells Dean so one day when he can't take it anymore. Dean just disinfected a wound on Cas' shoulder, and it keeps stinging even after Dean has wrapped it in bandages.

"I'm a burden," Cas says. He's going for matter-of-factly, but it ends up sounding a bit whiny. He's sitting on his bed, Dean standing in front of him. 

"Nope," Dean disagrees simply and checks Cas' other bruises, pressing into them gently and asking how much they hurt. 

After that's done Cas says, "Maybe I should leave you two and come back once I've learned how to take care of myself." 

Dean shoots him a stern look, but it grows softer when Cas' eyes meet his. "Are you kidding? I only showed you how to cut your toenails _last week_." He pats Castiel's shoulder. "You wouldn't survive without me," he jokes. 

"You're right," Cas says. _Just not in the way you think_ , he adds in his thoughts. 

"Don't be stupid, Cas," Dean says, but his voice is full of adoration. "You're learning. It's okay." He lets go of Cas and raises his shirt to reveal his abdomen. Pointing at one of the scars, he says, "See this? Didn't know how to deal with it, so it didn't heal properly. Shouldn't have left a scar, but it did, 'cause I was stupid."

Castiel shakes his head. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" 

Dean traces his scar with a finger. "It's there, it's always gonna be, and I don't care. Haven't thought about it since I got it, actually." He stops tracing. "It's just a weird bit of skin. It doesn't matter."

"But you've made a mistake, and now you're carrying it around with you." Cas raises his arm and hovers his hand next to the scar. He doesn't dare touching Dean's bare skin, _not there_ , not when they're in his bedroom - the only room where he allows himself to think about Dean like that. 

A second passes before Dean lets go of the hem of his shirt and it falls down to cover him again. Cas pulls his arm back quickly. 

"Sam and me will make sure you're not going to leave unnecessary scars if that's what you're worried about," Dean tells him, eyes on the arm that was reaching for him a moment ago. 

"It's not," Cas says. "It's the making mistakes I'm worried about."

"You're gonna make some," Dean sighs. "Hell, you've made many." He holds up a hand to stop Cas from interrupting. Cas looks up at him with hurt on his face. "It's okay, we all did. You shouldn't worry about it so much."

"I can't just... _stop_ worrying, Dean," Cas explains, as if Dean was the one who doesn't know what it's like to be human.

"I know," Dean says. "But me and Sam, we're going to help you, okay?" He smiles at Cas weakly and repeats, "I'm going to help you."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam teaches Cas how to do research. It's way easier than stitching wounds, even if it takes longer, and Cas soon as a hang for it. He knew the basics already, having watched Sam typing away on his laptop for years, and being well-read on newspapers. Now he knows which websites to check, which keywords to type into google, and how to print it all out in a readable format. He also learns about library cards and fees and librarians shushing him when he's talking too loudly. 

Dean's not there for those learning sessions, which Sam seems to be more than okay with. So Cas concentrates hard on learning, on Sam's advice and praise and acknowledging nods, and less on how much he wants Dean to be here as well. 

Cas finds news of suspicious murder all by himself one morning. He checks in with Sam, who's shaving in the bathroom, to make sure it really could be a case, and when Sam nods proudly, Cas goes to the kitchen where Dean is already at the stove, preparing breakfast. 

He walks over to Dean, stands beside him, and sets the laptop on the countertop. 

"Morning, Cas," Dean muses, eyeing first Cas and then the laptop screen. "What's up?" 

"I found a case for us in Colorado," Cas says and points at the photo in the news article. 

Dean raises his eyebrows and skims over the lines of text. "Sounds good, and not that far either. Might only take a couple o' days." He pours the finished eggs on a plate and hands it to Cas. "You found this by yourself?" 

Cas nods and sits down to eat. The table is already set. 

"Good job, man," Dean says as he sits down on the opposite side of the table. Cas's attention is on Dean's eyes, which are full of pride. He bathes in that glory for a few moments, regarding Dean with a soft expression, making sure to savor the feeling of being useful. Dean looks back at him, unwavering stare, a smile on his lips, and mossy-green eyes to get lost in. 

When Sam comes into the kitchen a few minutes later, Cas breaks the eye contact and starts eating his eggs. They're already cold by then.

They pack their stuff and get ready after breakfast, and leave for Colorado by midday. Cas, in the back seat, is nervous about the whole thing turning out to be nothing, and keeps fidgeting with the window crank. 

It's a relatively short drive, 400 miles, seven hours give or take. They stop for gas once and for toilets three times, the third time requested by Castiel, who isn't used to road trips as a human just yet. 

After going through the news articles and the plan, Sam starts quizzing Cas on practical medicine, and Cas does rather well, motivated by Dean listening intently from behind the steering wheel. 

When Sam gets sick of asking questions he starts staring out of the window quietly, as he so often does, and Cas looks at him for a few minutes before turning his head towards Dean. Watching Dean is for Cas what looking out the window is for Sam. They remain like this for the last two hours of their journey, only occasionally exchanging words. Cas knows that Dean feels him staring, but Dean never complains. 

When they finally arrive in Cripple Creek they check into the Gold King Mountain Inn: a bit pricy, one of the few choices in the former gold mining town, and affordable as long as they don't stay a whole week. The room is comfortable, and Dean wishes they could just stay in and enjoy the hotel's offers (there's a pool, dammit!), but they set out to find the eyewitnesses and relatives of the vics. Sam hits up the Wildwood Casino to talk to one of the managers there, a burly man who apparently has not only witnessed one but both of the murders, while Dean and Cas check out the small museum on the south end of the same street, which is owned by the family of one of the victims. 

Mining towns are always full of angry spirits, and when the hunters have gathered all the information they need they drive to the cemetery west of town and burn the remains of a man called Victor Carr. Cas, who is somehow worse at rock paper scissors than Dean, is the one that digs up the grave. Dean, as much as he enjoys watching Castiel's back muscles work like that, helps him out a bit while Sam keeps lookout.

They return to the hotel room - two kings and a pull-out couch - soon afterward, and Dean offers Cas one of the beds, having listened to Cas complaining about his lower back for the last few minutes. 

"So, one night to make sure, then back home?" Sam asks. 

"Guess so." Dean throws his jacket onto the couch to use as a pillow. Thinking about Victor Carr, he adds "I'd be pissed too if my buddy shot me for the gold we were supposed to share."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, that _buddy_ 's mysterious death was gruesome enough to be mentioned in the town's record not once, not twice, but three times." Sam frowns at Dean's makeshift bed. "Also, I would never shoot you for money." 

"Thanks, Sammy, much appreciated," Dean says flatly. 

Sam nods with a chuckle and slips into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

"Why would anyone do such a thing to a friend?" Cas wonders aloud. 

"Gold, Cas." He shakes his head. "Money. Buys you things friends can't."

"I'd rather be penniless than be without you," Cas says conversationally. 

Dean's sure that Cas means both Dean and Sam, and yet his snarky reply is stuck in his throat. He swallows hard and sits down on the couch. 

Cas continues, "Even when I was homeless, what I missed more than anything was you." His voice is soft.

"Okay," Dean says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say? He's staring down at his shoes, feeling terrible. He misses Cas too, every minute he isn't there. But Dean doesn't know how to say that out loud, or even if he wants to. Doesn't it mean just as much even if it goes unsaid? Surely Cas knows that their... _bond_ \- or whatever it is that is between them - goes both ways. It's easier to just stay in his comfort zone, sitting there like he swallowed his tongue, _thinking_ about loving Cas, instead of saying it. 

And he really does love Cas. He loves Cas like he loves Sam, fully and unconditionally and eternally; Cas is his family, through and through. But... sometimes Dean questions whether that is everything he feels for Cas. There seems to be a thread connecting the two men: tiny, silver, glowing like Cas' grace used to, strong, never letting go. It's not the scars on their skin or the blood in their veins that connects them, it's something else entirely. When Dean falls, the thread pulls Cas down with him; When Cas is gone, the thread tugs Dean's heart along.

Dean has wanted to ask Cas about it since Dean became aware of it. But somehow, it has never come up. And they never have time for stuff like that anyway; They've got bones to salt and monsters to kill. 

"I suppose stopping the deaths is worth the tension in my lower back," Cas' voice pulls Dean back into the hotel room. Cas stretches with his arms on the back of his hips, shirt slipping up to reveal skin, and Dean is reminded that no matter how strong their bond or how deep his love, at the end of the day he has a fucking _crush_ on Cas. He wants to take him out to dinner, hold his hands, watch bad movies while cuddling against him, feel his stubble on his own cheek, and yes, he wants to press his fingers into the skin right above Cas' hip which is flashing him so delightfully at this very moment. 

Dean shakes his head to snap out of it and looks away. "It'll be better tomorrow," he promises. 

"Good. I greatly dislike this kind of pain," Cas tells him. "There is nothing I can do about it, it's infuriating." 

"Well, not nothing." Dean slumps against the backrest of the couch. "Sometimes a massage helps." _Oh god, why would you say that!_

Cas' interest is piqued. "Can you show me how to do that?" 

"You can't do it on yourself," Dean chuckles nervously. "And I doubt Sam would do it for you."

Cas raises an eyebrow. "Would _you_ do it for me?" 

_Don't. Don't even think about it. Don't think about digging your filthy hands into his back. Don't think about the noises of relief he would make-_

"What, massage you?" Dean asks incredulously, voice an octave too high to sound casual. "No way!" 

"Oh." Cas looks thoroughly disappointed. "Why not?" 

Dean is spared from having to answer when their police radio crackles and reports of an unexplained incident come in. They look at each other, and Dean throws his fist against the bathroom door while Cas gathers their weapons. 

"Sammy, commotion at the so-called 'Heritage Center'. I'm guessing it's our Casper," Dean shouts through the door.

He hears the shower turn off and Sam appears half a minute later, hair dripping wet. "Let's go."

+

The Heritage Center has many stuffed versions of local animals, on display with walls of information about them. There's even a dinosaur model.

Cas doesn't have time to appreciate it though, because he's flying through the air, and hits a wall hard enough to pass out. When he comes to, the cacophony from earlier has died down, all there is is Sam and Dean's heavy breathing. 

"Cas, you alright?" Dean asks weakly from somewhere across the room. 

Cas tries to sit up, and the building begins to spin. He makes a choking sound instead of answering, and presses his eyes shut in an attempt to stabilize his surroundings. 

"I don't think so," he manages to get out finally. Quick footsteps are approaching him. 

"Shit, Cas, it's probably a concussion," Dean's voice says somewhere close to him. "Sam, can you finish off the spirit? I need to get Cas back to the hotel." 

An arm worms its way through the mess of Cas' limbs and heaves him up slowly. 

"I don't understand, what did we miss?" Cas asks, voice raw. 

Sam cocks a gun from a corner of the room. "It must be the gold. He never actually owned it but it was technically his because of the deal," he says. 

"Great," Dean grunts. "How the hell are we supposed to burn _gold_?" 

"I'll get creative. Any idea where it is?" Sam asks. 

"The museum," Cas says, slowly opening his eyes.

He sees Dean nod towards Sam with a determined look on his face. "Okay, hotel's on the way. Let's get to the car."

Sam comes closer and helps Dean lift Cas off the ground. They walk to the Impala in silence, Sam with a shotgun in his hands, covering them. Once in the car Cas can think of nothing other than Dean's body against his in the back seat, supporting him with both hands. It's a comically short drive, and when the car halts Dean throws a "Good luck" towards the driver's seat, grabs Cas tightly, and reaches around to open the car door.

"You alright?" Dean asks him as soon as they're outside watching Sam drive away. "Just a few more steps." 

Cas nods and lets Dean guide him to their hotel room with a hand on his shoulder. Once inside, Dean wants to push Cas down to sit on the bed so that he can examine him closer, but Cas beelines to the bathroom, stomach twisting and turning.

Cas looks at the toilet and it's over for him; He starts gagging and puking and his muscles convulse painfully. His fingers wrap around the toilet seat, holding on tightly. It's probably the worst thing he has ever experienced. 

A soothing hand begins to caress his back, and Cas leans into the touch, calming down after a few minutes when his stomach is finally empty. He breaths heavily, spit hanging from his mouth, acidic taste burning his tongue. 

"It's alright," Dean whispers from beside him. "You'll feel better now, you'll see." 

Cas wipes his mouth and tries very hard to believe him. He stares into the toilet bowl for a few more minutes, spitting occasionally. After a while, Dean gets up and hands him some tissues and a glass of water. Cas accepts them gratefully and cleans himself up. 

"So, looks like you have a concussion. That means bed rest for you, kiddo," Dean says, flushing the toilet and pushing Cas towards the bed.

Cas squints at the light in the main room and immediately feels sick again, which Dean seems to notice. 

"I'll go to the front desk and ask for a bucket. You, stay," Dean commands. "Be back in a sec," he adds in a softer tone. 

Cas falls asleep before Dean returns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cripple Creek and all the mentioned buildings actually exist by the way, I would never make up a name like that. The way I did it was by randomly zooming into Google Maps. Very fun, I highly recommend it. :D
> 
> Edit: I just saw that Jensen, Mark P, Rob and Richard Speight sang a cover of "Up on Cripple Creek" with Jason Manns. I was NOT aware of this song. What are the chances!


	3. Chapter 3

Sam manages to find a furnace to smelt the gold. They're not sure if that'll do the job, so they stay two more nights to make sure. Castiel's not feeling up to a long drive anyway.

Dean takes care of Cas as best he can, treating every little bruise and scrape. Cas could do it himself, but Dean likes nursing Cas back to health, and damnit, he can allow himself to enjoy something for once - to hell with Sam's knowing glances.

Cas starts feeling better on the third day since his injury, and they leave town, counting themselves lucky that the spirit seems to have vanished. Dean insists on sitting next to Cas, in the middle seat, in case Cas starts feeling worse again. Sam is driving, and he keeps shooting glances into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of them, so Dean doesn't dare touch Cas even though he desperately wants to.

Cas falls asleep three hours in, and his head lands on Dean's shoulder after two more hours. His breathing is deep and relaxing, and his skin is warm against Dean, who can't help but smile. He pointedly avoids looking towards the front seat, though, and prays to god that Sam keeps his remarks to himself, which Sam thankfully does.

After a while Cas' head rolls to the other side, leaving Dean to relax again. Not long after, Cas' eyes blink open, and with a yawn he asks "Are we there yet?" His voice is deep and filled with sleep, and he stretches, bumping into Dean as he moves his arms and legs into his space. Then the fucker just leaves them there, knee against Dean's, arm touching Dean's thigh. Dean wants to complain, because he _should_ , but Sam answers "One more hour, give or take," and stops for gas. While Cas is in the restroom Dean buys him a cereal bar ("for strength"), which Cas gratefully accepts with a soft "Thank you, Dean" and a smile that could give you diabetes. Dean does not miss Sam's amused headshake.

When they get into the car again Dean chooses the seat behind Sam, and Cas moves, with no hint of hesitation, towards the middle to sit right next to him. Sam's "No shotgun?" is ignored by both of them.

They arrive at the bunker at sundown. Sam, exhausted from driving, practically falls into bed to catch a few z's, but Cas is wide awake, so Dean is too. They're in the library for a few more hours, Cas picking up a book, reading for a few minutes, then getting up to pick a different one. Dean watches him, asks him what the books are about, asks him how his head is doing ("Fine, Dean, thank you."), asks him what he thought about the hunt, asks him questions until Cas finally got tells him - very politely - that he would like to concentrate on reading. Dean shuts up for approximately four minutes before becoming restless. Then he takes out his phone and scrolls through some social feeds, opening the same apps again and again as if expecting something new each time. When his expectations are not fulfilled he locks his phone's screen again and places it back into his pocket. Then he's staring at Cas again, watching his eyes follow the text, flicking back to the start after each line.

As much as Dean loves looking at Cas, realistically he can do it only so long before he starts to scratch his own brains out from boredom - he simply doesn't have the angelic patience Cas still seems to harbour when it comes to things like that. Cas can probably look at Dean for hours without getting bored. Dean takes that as a compliment. And yeah, Dean, against popular belief, _isn't_ blind, and knows very well that Cas looks at him. It was strange at first, but now it's a familiar feeling he welcomes - a tickle on the back of his neck, like a soft touch, a _I'm here, my eyes are on you_. (But don't tell Sam that.)

So yeah, Dean isn't blind, but he _is_ a little bit of an idiot, staying awake sometimes, pondering why _anyone_ would look at him like that. He doesn't have an answer for that.

But hey, it's been a long day, and he's bored out of his mind, and Cas is here, and Dean feels the need to rock the boat, because that's just what he does when he's bored.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asks into the room, putting his phone away. When Cas raises his head Dean looks towards him to meet his eyes. "You always look at me, what's up with that?"

"I-" for a second it seems like Cas is going to fight it, lie about not doing such a thing, but he concedes. "I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't," Dean says truthfully. "I just want to know why."

Cas thinks for a moment. "Why were _you_ watching _me_?"

Dean's annoyed that he gets a question as an reply and doesn't even consider answering it. "Fine, don't tell me."

Cas looks confused now, and honestly a bit annoyed, and puts the book he's been reading on the table, not breaking their eye contact.

"Our reasons are probably similar," Cas says.

Dean scoffs. "Yeah, right."

Cas smiles at him. "Partly I do it because I like... your eyes," Cas says shyly, dropping his gaze.

"M-my eyes?" Dean asks, not sure if he heard correctly.

"Beyond the obvious physical beauty..." Cas begins and ponders for a moment. "When I look at them, I feel like I can see inside you, see your soul. Like I'm an angel again."

"Well, they say the eyes are the window to the soul, so..." Dean says with a smirk and rubs his hand over his face. "But, uhm, thank you," he finishes lamely.

Cas looks up again, a soft smile on his lips. "You're welcome, Dean."

Dean shoots him a weak smile and stands up. "Okay, enough flirting," he jokes, regretting it instantly. "I'm, uh, going to bed," he says awkwardly.

"Good night, Dean," Cas says.

Dean turns to walk away. "G'night, Cas."

It takes Dean an excruciatingly long time to fall asleep that night, thinking about his conversation with Cas. After two hours of his friend's words echoing in his head ( _Our reasons are probably similar_ , fuck) he lazily decides that he's _over_ thinking it, files the butterflies he feels away somewhere, and finally drifts into sleep. Because that's the Winchester way.

+

Sam is up early the next morning and goes for a grocery run. When he returns Cas is already in the kitchen, a folorn look on his face.

"Morning, Cas," Sam greets him.

"Good Morning, Sam," Cas says, scratching the empty table he is sitting at, apparently lost in thought.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks as he begins to put away the groceries.

Cas sighs, gets up and helps him. After a while he says, "Yes, I think so."

"Alright."

They finish, and Cas grabs a kiwi from the fruit basket Sam put on the counter. As he cuts it open he thanks Sam for buying the food.

"No problem. I woke up kinda early today. Why are you up already, anyways?" Sam asks him.

Cas starts cutting the kiwi in slices, which makes Sam grab a spoon and demonstrate scooping up the kiwi with it.

Cas nods, obviously appreciating Sam's lesson. "I guess I didn't sleep well," he says finally. He slips a spoonful of kiwi into his mouth.

"Why's that?" Sam asks.

Cas shrugs helplessly. "It seems I still haven't fully grasped how to turn off one's thoughts."

Sam smiles at him. "Yeah, it takes some people a lifetime to learn." He grabs the knife and washes the kiwi bits off it. "Anything in particular on your mind?"

"Yes," Cas says. "Dean."

Sam gives Cas some time to elaborate, but Cas only continues to eat his fruit.

"Want to talk about it?" Sam offers.

"I..." Cas hesitates. "I don't know what there is to talk about, and that's what bothers me."

Sam hums, wondering what to say. "Can I take a guess?" he asks carefully.

Cas nods and puts the empty kiwi half on the table, but doesn't reach for the other half.

"You've noticed a change on how Dean acts around you?" Sam guesses. "But you're not sure if Dean's noticed it himself?"

Cas thinks about that for a second, brows furrowed, then nods. "Yes, something like that."

"Sounds like you should talk to Dean about it," Sam says and claps his hand on Cas' shoulder encouragingly.

"I can't," Cas simply says.

"Okay, why not?"

"Because... Every time I try, I start feeling sick again. I must have not recovered from the concussion yet."

Sam chuckles. "You mean, your stomach twists, you start feeling dizzy, your hands are shaking, ...?"

"Yes." Cas meets Sam's eyes. "Exactly like that. Is that a bad sign? Am I still sick?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, Cas. That's normal. You're just nervous about talking to Dean."

"Nervous," Cas repeats, thinking.

"Yeah," Sam confirms. "Just fight through it. You'll feel better once you've talked to him." At least I hope so*, Sam adds in his mind.

Cas nods again. "Thank you, Sam. I will try." He starts walking towards the door. "Also, that fruit does not taste good, it makes my tongue feel fuzzy," he says and is out of the kitchen before Sam can say anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam returns to the library he finds Dean inspecting Cas' face, one hand curled around the collar of the trench coat, index finger of the other hand slowly stroking over Cas' bottom lip. His brows are furrowed, a concentrated expression on his face that contrasts heavily with the look of panic in Castiel's eyes. 

Sam clears his throat. 

Dean yanks down his hand and turns towards him. His mouth opens, but he has to think for two seconds. "Did you give Cas strange fruit?" he snaps.

"Uh, what? He ate a _kiwi_ , Dean," Sam says, holding his hands up, not having expected such hostility. 

"It's really nothing," Cas says and pulls his face away from Dean's examining and - frankly - grabby hands.

"His lips are swollen," Dean retorts, eyes on Sam. 

Sam looks over at Cas, runs his gaze over him for a second. "They look normal to me."

"What, are you blind? Do you even know what Cas' lips look like?" Sam rolls his eyes. "Hey! Stay here," Dean commands as Cas takes a step back. 

Sam chuckles. "You're overreacting, Dean. And no, I don't exactly know what his lips look like. Sorry," he adds to Cas with a grin on his face, "I don't stare at you like he does." 

"I'm not in danger, am I?" Cas asks Sam anxiously, choosing to ignore Sam's mirth. 

"No. Not as long as you can breathe fine," Sam says seriously, calming him down. That poor man is already dealing with Dean being all over him. 

"How about we don't give Cas here stuff that might or might not kill him, huh?" Dean huffs. 

Sam gapes at him. "Dean, what has gotten into you? He's going to be _fine_. Stop acting like an overprotective boyfriend."

Dean shoots Sam a deathly stare. 

"Dean, your brother is right, you mustn't worry about me so much. The tingles are already subsiding," Cas agrees. 

Dean looks at Cas for a moment, probably to try to figure out if he's lying, then finally gives a defeated grunt and lets his hands drop from the trenchcoat. He raises a brow at Sam and says pointedly, "Fine, but if he dies, don't you come crying to me." 

Sam gives him his best bitchface. "Sure, when he dies from a frickin' _kiwi_." 

This is getting ridiculous, Sam's got to do _something_. 

+

It's a few hours later, and Castiel thanks the heavens that his mouth had started feeling normal again soon after what happened in the library. Though, he has to admit, it took his heartbeat a while longer than that to return to normal, with Dean's investigating hands having been all over him.

It's a new thing. 

Not everything. Not the way Dean pulls Castiel towards him, like a giant magnet, without really trying. Not the way Castiel gets lost in the hunter's eyes. Not the sensation of all colors around them saturating whenever Dean smiles at him. No, all of that Castiel is familiar with, and knows how to deal with. 

It's the human things: The shortness of breath. The spinning sensation. The ridiculous rush of blood into his face whenever Dean touches him. The way Castiel can feel his _heart_ \- his actual, human _heart_ \- jumping when their eyes meet. 

It's humiliating. And it's _frightening_ , strange, unknown. Again and again, Castiel has to deal with a first time. The sensation of something being stuck in his throat. Words not coming out when he wants them to. Shaky hands. There seems to be an endless amount of things, and each time he discovers a new one he sinks further into the hole he's hiding in, attempting an escape from it all but only finding himself deeper in his own thoughts. 

If he were still an angel he would simply ask the Winchesters for advice. But, as it is, with him being human, he can't. He simply _can't_. And he doesn't know why, can't explain it. But it feels like a hook is pierced into his skin and whenever he wants to reach out to one of the brothers for help it pulls him back, won't let him go. An anxiety so constant and humbling, and Castiel doesn't know why it's there or where it came from, or whether it's ever going to go away. 

And yet, that isn't even the worst of it.

Castiel feels something bubbling up inside of him occasionally, something ugly and unreasonable, and when it's there he feels as far from heaven as he could possibly be. 

It's selfishness. Pure, naked selfishness. Undisguised and uninvited, yet there. It lights a fire inside of him when it arrives, a fire that wants to be fed. It burns and it pains, but Castiel knows that giving in to it would only make it unstoppable. So he tries his best to subdue it, ignore it if necessary, live with it. The fire roars when Dean is as close to him as he was earlier. Castiel can feel his hands wanting to reach out to claim Dean as his own. The flames licked on his insides when Dean touched Cas' lip, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to lean in without question, without consent, without hesitation. 

He managed to not give in this time. But he's weak, and tired. And as he's sitting on his bed, hearing footsteps approaching in the hallway - unmistakably Dean's - he gives up. Just like that. It's another first. 

"Dean," Castiel calls out. 

A moment later Dean is leaning into Castiel's bedroom, hands on the doorframe. "What's up, buddy?" 

Castiel hesitates for a moment. Dean is being so nice to him, so protective and caring, and he's about to selfishly use him for his own benefit. That's what being human does to you, apparently. 

"My lower back," Cas starts, and points to it awkwardly. "It's still hurting," he blatantly lies. 

"Well," Dean says, but Cas interrupts him. 

"I know you said you wouldn't want to give me a massage. I just thought... maybe I can change your mind."

Dean perks up an eyebrow. "Is that so? And how would you do that?" 

Cas frowns. "By... asking nicely?" He hasn't thought this through. 

Dean laughs, rubbing his chin. "Fair enough," he says and enters the room. "I can try."

Cas beams at him, shutting out the guilt as best he can. "Thank you, Dean." 

"Don't thank me yet, it's been a while since I've done this." Dean reaches to close the door behind himself. It shuts with a quiet click. "I'm doing this to say sorry for being all over you earlier," he explains. "I overreacted." 

"It's alright, Dean." It really is. Cas wouldn't mind more overreactions in the future, if it meant breathing in Dean's air. 

They share a look, and Dean clears his throat. 

"Okay, lie down," Dean says, rolling up his sleeves. 

Cas sits down on the edge of the bed, then rolls towards the center, looking at Dean. 

"On your stomach, genius," Dean tells him. 

"Oh." Cas turns over and happily buries his embarrassment in the pillow. 

The end of the bed tips down as Dean crawls on, and a moment later he's straddling Castiel's hips. 

"Tell Sam about this and you won't ever have to worry about your back again, got it?" Dean says from om top of Cas, but his voice is soft. He lifts Cas' arms from his sides and places them further up, next to Cas' head. 

"Got it," Cas says, voice muffled in the pillow. He runs his hands over the linen beside it, preparing to grab it to calm himself. His whole body is screaming at him, the points of contact between him and Dean glowing hot, shooting sparks through his veins. 

Fingertips start pressing Cas' his skin, right above his hips, massaging softly. Cas is glad he had the foresight to hold his breath, because he almost lets a groan escape from his lips. 

He doesn't know much about massages. He knows they involve a lot of touching, which is why he asked Dean to do it for him. He doesn't know how intimate it is supposed to be, maybe not at all. Or maybe it is, because last time Dean said Sam wouldn't do it for him. Then again, Dean also said that he himself wouldn't do it. And anyway, Dean probably doesn't think of moments like these in measures of intimacy the way Castiel did. 

Dean's not afraid of intimacy, he thinks. Cas knows for a fact that Dean has been intimate with many women. And yes, that's probably a different kind of intimacy. Humans make funny distinctions like that. Like love isn't the same as love isn't the same as love. 

Cas can understand that a bit better now. He feels love for Sam, but he loves him differently than he loves Dean. 

He thought he loved Dean back when he was an angel. Now he isn't quite so sure that what he felt was love. Maybe angels couldn't _really_ love. Maybe _this_ is love, the fear and the fire inside of him, the weight of Dean's body, so delicate. It fits. Humans say love is beautiful, but they also say love is ugly. They're right. Castiel always knew that it can be both. But he never _felt_ it. Now he does. 

He wants to say, "Dean, I lied to you. It's the ugliness inside of me that made me do it, the ugliness of being human and of loving you." He wants to apologize, tell him, "There is beauty in loving you too, but I am afraid to experience it. I'm afraid you do not reciprocate. And maybe deep down I know that you don't, but whatever is inside of me, it doesn't let me accept that." 

But he doesn't say anything, keeps his mouth shut and his breath held, face in pillow, fingers clutching the bedsheets. 

Dean's hands are still on him, pressing here and there, less soft now, stronger, Dean is putting his weight into it. It crumples Cas' shirt and pulls it out of his pants, and it travels up a few inches, exposing his skin to the cool air. Dean tugs on it, drags it upwards as far as it goes, and he presses a flat palm on Cas' skin, hot, steady. 

Cas lets out a shaky breath and gasps for more air, and arches his back into Dean's touch. 

"Everything okay, Cas?" Dean asks, almost a whisper. 

Cas drops to the mattress again and tries to calm himself. "Yes," he replies. 

"Is it helping?" 

Cas hesitates. He doesn't want to keep up the lie. "Yes." Guilt is filling up his stomach. 

"Want me to continue?" 

"Yes," Castiel says again, feeling rather stupid. 

Dean continues. He strokes Cas' back for a second, muttering "Okay, relax...", then starts kneading again, working Cas' back in a slow but determined fashion. 

Cas does try to relax, but it's almost impossible with the feeling of Dean on him, touching him. And besides, the massage itself really did feel amazing. 

It feels like only a few minutes pass, and then Dean's movements are slowing down. Eventually he stops massaging altogether, but he's still touching, moving his hands to Cas' waist, then up his back, fingers slipping under Cas' shirt. He stops when he's at the base of Cas' neck, and pulls his hands out again. 

Dean claps his hands softly. "Alright, that's enough." He clears his throat and crawls off the bed to stand, leaving Castiel feeling very light but also cold.

Castiel sits up and fixes his shirt, facing Dean. 

"Hope that helped," Dean says - rather awkwardly Castiel thinks - and hovers around the door. 

"Thank you," Castiel says again, and looks Dean in the eyes. There's a new feeling again: It's like tufts of cotton are clouding his brain. He doesn't want the moment to stop. He doesn't want Dean to go and leave him here alone. Even if it's all based on a lie Castiel wants it, and he's ashamed of it, but the thought of Dean trumps everything else there is. 

But Dean simply nods at him and leaves. 

And Castiel sits on his bed, and cries. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam Winchester's patience is running low.

Castiel's cluelessness, Dean's pissed-off-ness... Sam has got enough of it. It's been _years_. They're not going to figure it out themselves. No pining or staring contest that Sam isn't invited to will make up for apparently-dead-or-unused brain cells.

Okay, maybe that's a bit mean, but hey, Sam's losing sleep over this.

He really wants to create an evil plot and execute it flawlessly until Dean and Cas make out - or whatever it is the kids these days do. He thinks about creating coincidences, starting awkward conversations, "accidentally" booking a motel room with a double bed, basically playing god. Hell, maybe straight-up yelling "Guys, just kiss each other already!" would do the trick.

But that's not how Sam wants it to happen, even though it would be amusing. There's no need to lock them into a closet together. Well, at least not yet. They just need a little push.

So for now Sam is going to gently shove his bunkermates in the right direction (which, of course, is towards each other) and hope that that jumpstarts the fluffy romance Sam's been waiting for since the apocalypse. (Hold on, is Sam being creepy about this? No. No, he's right about this. He knows his brother well enough to know that Dean's head over heels for Cas.)

Subtlety is the key. After all, he doesn't want to _break_ them. He's already treading on thin ice around Dean, having used the b-word ( _boyfriend_ , not 'bitch' - _that_ Dean would be a lot more okay with). It won't help anyone if he scares his brother off by being too bold. Cas is already having a hard time as it is, Sam doesn't want to make it all worse for the poor guy by effectively forcing Dean to prove his heterosexuality. (Yeah, right.)

Dean's got a long way to go, Sam thinks with a sigh. Cas is trying to meet him in the middle, but the puzzle pieces don't quite fit together yet. There's some more rounding off to do.

Cas pushing his relationship with Dean is probably the way to go. Sam already told Cas that he needed to talk to Dean about everything, but he's not sure if Cas has done that yet. The ex-angel hasn't reported back to Sam. (Not that Sam expected him too, honestly.)

So, Sam thinks, and makes a list in his mind:

Step one, ask Cas if he's talked to Dean yet. If not, wait another day, then push Cas a bit harder.

If yes, step two: Find out as much about the conversation as possible and try to work out what exactly is stopping these idiots from getting together.

Then, of course, step three: Get rid of these obstacles, and watch as a new love blooms in their bunker.

+

Castiel is tired.

Not the way he used to be, back when he was an angel. Fighting wars for heaven was exhausting and difficult, but Castiel was never _tired_.

Now he is. Very much so.

Why? Because apparently humans need eight (according to the internet) or six (according to Sam) or at the very least four (according to Dean) hours of sleep, and Cas is barely getting them.

Sam told him that it might take him a long time to learn how to turn off his thoughts when going to sleep. But Sam didn't understand. Castiel didn't have problems falling asleep when he first became human. In fact, he couldn't get enough of it. Something is different now, now that he lives and hunts with the brothers, now that he accepts what he is feeling for Dean. Last night it took him ages to even become drowsy, rolling around in his bed, uncomfortable, hot, loud thoughts keeping him awake.

Thoughts of Dean, about the hunter's hand on his neck, and his palm spreading over his back, massaging. Innocent thoughts, wishing he knew how it felt if Dean folded himself over Cas' back, warm against him, holding him and not letting go, whispering in Cas' ear, "Is it helping?", _yes, it is_ , taking his hand in his own, weaving their fingers together, falling asleep like that, with Dean beside him.

Thoughts of Sam too: Talking to Sam, confessing to him, laying it all out before him, asking him for help with this. In his mind Sam is gentle and supportive, yet honest, giving him advice and guidance, which, unfortunately in his thoughts, is just white noise, unknown information.

And beyond all of that waves and waves of guilt crashing into him. Guilt about lying to Dean and using him; Guilt so bitter and burning that Castiel's pillow ended up wet from tears for the second time that day.

When Castiel finally did fall asleep it was to the image of spending the rest of his short human life with Dean, helping, learning, watching... but never having.

And maybe Castiel is okay with that.

+

Castiel is absolutely _not_ okay with that.

Just one look at Dean in his crumpled sweatpants and sleep-in shirt, fuzzy face and bed hair and grumpy demeanor, sipping his coffee (black) and shoveling in his eggs (almost black) is all it takes: Cas feels lost again.

There is no way in heaven or hell that he can see this for the rest of his life, not allowed to touch, barely allowed to look, and not lose his mind.

He stares as Dean looks up at him, gets up grudgingly, and cracks more eggs into the still-hot pan as if directed to do so instead of doing it of his own free will. He took the coffee with him and knocks it back while shuffling the eggs.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says as Dean hands him a plate as he always does. Cas holds it steady as Dean unloads the food on it, and says "You don't have to do this anymore, Dean. I know how to cook breakfast."

"I want to," Dean grunts, scraping the rest from the pan and setting it aside again.

Cas wants to ask why, but the food is smelling too delicious to ignore. He grabs a fork from the silverware drawer and starts eating without even sitting down. As he does so, he feels Dean's gaze on him.

"So," Dean's voice is rough in the mornings, "Sleep well?"

"Not really," Cas says while chewing.

"Yeah, I figured that much. You look tired, man. Back still giving you trouble?"

"No," Cas says before he has the chance to lie again.

Dean nods.

A noise comes from the kitchen door and Cas turns around, plate in hand, to see Sam. He looks well-rested and healthy of course, in his running outfit, glowing compared to them, and even has a smile plastered on his face.

"Good morning," he says cheerfully, and Cas grimaces.

"Morning," Dean sighs, pushing himself away from the counter. He claps Sam on the shoulder as he walks by him, and leaves, just like that, tugging at Cas' heart in the process.

Sam's gaze follows his brother for a second, then his head snaps back to look at Cas.

"Have you talked to him yet?"

Cas takes his time answering, finishes his entire plate first. Sam waits patiently.

"Uhh, no."

Sam regards him with a raised eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because." Cas rolls his eyes and sighs.

Sam presses his lips together flatly. "You look terrible." It's clearly a tease to get Cas to talk.

Cas ignores it.

"Already thought of what to say to him?" Sam keeps pushing, and Cas starts feeling unsteady. He did _not_ know what to say to Dean.

"Want me to help?" Sam offers.

Cas thinks about that for a second. Here it is, the chance to get that information his own brain wouldn't give to him. The missing piece. The right way to go about all this.

He opens his mouth, almost says "I'm fine, thank you, Sam" but stops himself last second, and forces himself to be truthful.

"That would be appreciated, I suppose," he says. It's not quite frank either, he doesn't _suppose_ , he _knows_ , but... details.

"Okay." Sam seems pleased with himself. Fine, let him be. If he's going to help Cas he has every right to be.

"Well, you said it's about the way he acts around you, yeah?" Sam asks.

"Yes..." Cas answers carefully and puts his empty plate in the sink.

"So, is it bad or good?"

Cas furrows his brows at Sam.

"I mean," Sam continues, "Do you want him to change the way he acts, or tell him that you're okay with it?" he explains.

 _Neither,_ Cas thinks, but says "I don't want him to stop."

"Okay, but...?" Sam digs deeper.

"He seems uncomfortable," Cas says, frowning at the thought.

"When he's around you, you mean?" Sam asks.

"No." Cas sighs. "Not always. Only when..." he trails off, not quite sure.

Sam smiles a sad smile at him and steps closer. "Cas... It's okay. You don't have to say it. I know what you mean. I think Dean would understand too, even if you're not sure how to say it. Just talk to him, it'll be alright. I promise."

Cas feels hopeful at that, but the thought of confronting Dean quickens his pulse. It's still too difficult, too daunting.

"I don't know how," Cas finally says. The _I'm too scared_ hangs in the air between them.

"What about this," Sam says. "Unless Dean finds a case for us until noon, I'm cooking dinner. I'm going to tell you and Dean to clean up afterward. You'll have your moment then."

It's a plan. Cas doesn't know if it's a good one, though. Unsure, he meets Sam's eyes.

"What if he doesn't want to talk?" he asks.

"Then I still win, because you'll be doing the dishes either way," Sam teases. In a more serious tone, he adds, "He won't bite. Just don't let him shake you off. He doesn't like-"

"Chick-flick moments, yes," Cas finishes for him. "I am aware."

+

The start of the plan goes quite smoothly. Dean doesn't find a case for them, maybe hasn't even been looking, and Sam prepares a two-course menu: tomato soup with little cubes of stale bread (they have to get rid of it somehow), and an Asian dish he forgot the name of as soon as his eyes left the cookbook. They all dig in happily, and when their plates are empty Sam stacks them up and thrusts them into Dean's hands.

"I cooked, you clean up," he says to both of them, meeting Cas' eyes for a fraction of a second. Dean is too full to complain, so he takes the plates and lets the sink run full with water.

Sam puts his hand on Cas' lower back and shoves him towards Dean, who's facing away. Sam and Cas share a look, Cas not very pleased, and Sam leaves with a rushed "Have fun!" before Cas can start complaining.

Castiel starts picking up the pots from the table, feeling lost.

Ten minutes later the kitchen is almost clean, leftover food in the fridge and plates scrubbed clean, and Cas stands next to Dean, both of them towel in hand, drying the tableware.

"Dean, can we talk?" Cas asks carefully, eyes fixed on the spoon he's drying off. In his peripheral vision, he sees Dean go still and turn his head towards him.

"About?" Dean asks.

Cas swallows heavily and sets the dry spoon aside. His fingers curl into the towel on the counter as he turns towards Dean. He thinks maybe he can actually do it now, confess, if he doesn't think about it too much, doesn't let the fear inside him rise. But he doesn't find the words fast enough, and all that stumbles out is "I-, you-, I can't-, I don't _want to_ -"

Dean stops him with a raised hand before he can stutter out more nonsense. "Woah there, cowboy. Wanna try that again?"

Cas takes a moment to compose himself and does.

"Last night, when I was trying to fall asleep," he begins awkwardly, knowing very well that Dean misses context here, "I thought maybe I could do it, but I can't, I think," he says.

Dean's expression turns concerned. "Do what?"

"Be..." Cas closes his eyes for a second to gather his courage. "Happy."

Dean looks sad now, awfully so, and the sight of it fills Cas with remorse. Dean doesn't say anything for a while, and Cas thinks maybe he's waiting for him to elaborate.

"- With you," Cas finishes reluctantly. "Or rather... Without you."

"Okay." Dean looks at him with confusion. "What- What does that mean?" he asks, voice flat.

Their eyes meet and Cas thinks _What am I doing? I'm ruining everything._

He shakes his head, lowers it. "Forget it."

"Cas..." Dean moves his hand on the counter, grabs Cas' wrist gently. Cas' grip on the towel tightens.

"Please, I... This was foolish. I am sorry I brought it up."

Dean squeezes his wrist. "Cas," he repeats, more determined now.

Cas looks up at him.

"Please explain," Dean says, grip on Cas tightening, not letting him run away, and moves in closer to Cas, beautiful green eyes looking down at him. Cas wants to get lost in them, dive in and never come up for air. Before Cas knows what he's doing he tilts his head up and touches his lips to Dean's. It's barely a kiss, quick and dry, and once it's done and Dean's eyes go wide Cas rips his hand away from Dean and says "I'm sorry."

Dean says "Cas..." again, and it sounds shattered, and Cas thinks _I broke him_ and wants to flutter away, but he's human, there are no wings helping him vanish, so instead he runs for the hallway, praying to his father to forgive him.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean is pretty sure that the earth stops turning when Cas kisses him. It's a fleeting kiss, lips barely touching, a soft touch on the corner of his mouth, over as quickly as it started. But its message is clear. Dean feels like he has been turned to stone, standing stiff and holding his breath, unbelieving that Cas could reciprocate his feelings. 

Cas pulls back as if Dean gave him an electronic shock and apologizes, and Dean wants to tell him that he's not mad, he's not upset, just surprised, but all that comes out is a weak "Cas..." and before he can will his body to move, Cas is gone. 

He stares at the towel on the counter, where just a moment ago he was holding Cas and trying to get him to explain. 

He stares for a minute, then another one. 

He stares until he re-lived the whole scene ten times, and only then he fully grasps what the hell just happened. 

Blood is rushing through his ears as he begins to leave the kitchen, slow and almost mechanical. One step in front of the next. 

Step. _Holy shit._

Step. _Stupid bastard. Where'd he run off to?_

Step. _I hope Sam's not around._

Step. _He kissed me._

Step. _Did that really just happen?_

Step. _I'll find him._

Step. _I'll tell him._

+

Castiel might never get used to being human. He had been an angel for several hundred million years before losing his grace. A human lifespan, even a long one, is _nothing_ compared to his age.

He doesn't mind that; doesn't mind that he feels himself growing older physically; doesn't mind that he's going to die soon or - with a bit of bad luck - any day. But it just isn't enough time for him to completely adapt to this earthly, small way of living; a life full of love and hurt and _want_. 

He _wants_ Dean. He wants him, but he can't have him. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum with kicks and screams, _I want, I want, I want!_

Rivers of tears are wetting his cheeks and blurring his vision, his heart's stuck in his throat, choking him, and through it all, he _laughs_.

It's cracked and bitter and tastes like death and dying, but it's there.

He laughs at the absurdity of it all; of an angel becoming mortal, falling first to earth and then head over heels for the Righteous Man he pulled out of damnation, the man who could never return the love that waited for millennia, the love of an angel (or of what used to be an angel), an ancient love; whatever it really is and was. 

He's curled up on his bed and cries and laughs and feels more human than he ever has before, and after a while, his body stops shaking and his nose stops running and he's just there, sobbing quietly, and there's a knock on the door. 

+

The bedroom door is closed, and Dean presses the handle down to find out that it's locked as well. He knocks gently with a curled index finger.

"Cas?"

No answer. 

"Cas, please let me in. We gotta talk." 

Again, silence. 

Dean sighs. "There's something you need to know," he pushes out. It sounds more serious than he planned. 

A small whine comes from inside the room. Dean waits patiently until he hears footsteps. The lock turns, the door stays closed, however, and then the footsteps walk away again. 

Dean swings the door open slowly, and it reveals Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed with red-rimmed eyes and a face shining wet with tears. 

"Dean," the former angel says, voice low and rough. 

Dean steps in and pushes the door closed and thinks about how much simpler everything was when he was in here because he couldn't say no to giving Cas a massage. He felt antsy then, nervous but excited. So different than what he is feeling now. 

Now that Cas is looking at him like _that_.

Dean really doesn't want to fuck this up. 

"Cas, I'm not going to leave you," he starts, just to get that out of the way so that maybe he can see Cas smile again. "You won't ever have to be... without me, okay?" 

Cas doesn't smile. He pulls a face, as if Dean stabbed him in the heart, instead of having promised to always be by his side.

"You don't mean that," Cas says. 

"Yes, I do." 

"Not in the way—" 

" _Yes_ in the way," Dean interrupts him. "I mean it, Cas. In _every_ way." 

Cas' eyes grow wide as he looks at Dean. There's hope in there. 

Dean clears his throat. "I don't mind -," he starts, and gestures vaguely into the direction of the hallway, "that you kissed me."

Cas' lips go flat in an enigmatic expression as he tilts his head. 

"Hell, I wouldn't mind if you did it again," Dean says with a chuckle, and feels a blush spread over his neck. He's playing with the hem of his shirt, searching for something to grab onto.

Cas remains unreadable to him, so Dean ventures on.

"I can... _assume_ you would want to do that again?" he asks carefully. 

Cas nods hesitantly, his expression softening. 

Dean nods back and sits down next to him awkwardly, meeting his crystal blue eyes and finally recognizing the tender look in them - the look that's always been there - as love.

_Oh._

And before Dean has the chance to do something dumb he presses a clumsy kiss on Cas' damp, salty lips. Cas is warm and responsive, pulls when Dean pushes, and Dean lays a hand on his cheek and brushes the tear-stroked skin with his thumb until they break apart with heavy gasps a minute later. 

"Dean," Cas breaths into him, eyelids still closed, one hand clutching at Dean's shirt.

A few seconds pass. 

"I think I might love you," Dean says, because _fuck it_ , and drops his hand from Cas' face.

Cas' eyes open slowly, and his gaze travels up, stopping at Dean's lips for a short while, then continuing up until they meet Dean's eyes. 

"I love you," he echoes. 

Dean's heart jumps. "Yeah, okay," he chuckles quietly, eyes flicking around the room.

Cas doesn't say anything, so Dean clears his throat and asks "So... d'you wanna give this" - he gestures back and forth between them - "a try?" 

Cas catches his gaze and says "More than anything in the world, Dean."

And Dean knows that he means it. 

+

Sam takes one look at the pair of them strolling into the war room - Dean flustered and Cas smiling delicately - and somehow he just _knows_. 

Nevertheless, a few weeks later Dean sits him down and tells him that Cas and him are together now and that he doesn't want any stupid comments.

Sam just tells him that he's happy for them, but he doesn't make any promises on the comments-part. 

+

It's not suddenly easy.

In fact, in Castiel's opinion, much of it is hard.

In the beginning, Dean doesn't want to be kissed in public; that's hard. Sometimes he doesn't want to be kissed in private either, when they've been fighting or sometimes just because his brother is there, or because it's been a rough day, or week, or month, and Dean needs space for himself; that's harder. 

Cas sleeps in Dean's bed more frequently with time, and it's hard to fall asleep when Dean's body heat burns into him, and it's hard to sleep through the night when Dean wakes up screaming from nightmares, again and again. It's hard to get up in the mornings too, though, when Dean's fingers are curled into Castiel's hair lazily, or when his arm is wrapped around Castiel's waist, tugging him closer. It's hard when, one day, Dean doesn't stop kissing Cas, and his hands are wandering under the hem of Cas' pants, and Cas remembers that Dean said he likes experienced women, of which Cas is neither, and it's a scary thing to lose yourself in another person like he did that day. 

It's hard for Dean, too. It's hard to stop pushing all his feelings down, expressing them instead. It's hard to work jobs because now he worries even more that someone might get hurt. 

But in the end, they make it work, all of it.

Sam helps them through it, every step of the way, sometimes with loving, encouraging words, other times by not saying anything at all, if that's what his brother needs.

Dean gets hurt badly one day - it's his leg - and after that, they don't really do cases anymore.

Sam goes out to help a fellow hunter every once in a while, and when he does, Dean and Castiel enjoy their togetherness in the bunker. Cas counts the scars on Dean's skin, touching each and every one with his fingertip first, then with a gentle kiss, starting at the top of his head and traveling down until he reaches his toes. He keeps miscounting though, or maybe some of them fade after a while, because even after they stopped hunting Cas ends up with a different number each time, and he says it at the dinner table on Sundays, it's a tradition for them, and after he says the number Sam serves the dish he had cooked for them. Cas cleans up after, and Dean helps or simply sits at the table and keeps him company, fatigued from his bad leg, and lists movies they have yet to see or places they would visit if they had more time or money or energy for it all.

One day Sam cuts his hair and Dean teases him for the full year it takes to grow back.

Another day Cas finds Dean in the library, eyes filled with tears, looking at a picture of Bobby, and Cas promises Dean that they'll all meet again.

Once, in winter, Sam cleans the snow off Baby after taking her for a drive, and Dean presses the keys into Sam's hand and says "She's yours now, brother," and Sam damn nearly cries. 

Sam takes Cas shopping now and again, and each time Cas picks a small trinket or snack to give to Dean for when they return to the bunker. But one day, a Thursday in May, he keeps his gift in his pocket, waiting for a better moment, and regardless: when they come home Dean is in a bundle of blankets on the couch watching _The Princess Bride_ , gesturing to Cas to come cuddle in with him, and Cas can't say no to that, so it's not the right time anyways. 

Soon after that, on a cool summer evening, the three of them go for a walk together, slow, with many breaks for Dean to rest his leg, even if he insists that he's fine. The wind rushes through the trees above them, making Cas' coat flutter and Sam's hair dance in front of his face. They stop on top of a hill and Dean says "Let's live like this forever" with a gentle smile while the setting sun's orange glow lights up the freckles on his face, and Cas pulls out the little box from his pocket and kneels before him and asks him to marry him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you've made it this far!


End file.
